How many does it take before you find your Prince?

Could it be worse?….. Duh

Although, lets face it, if you put your mind to it, every day can be hump day, or at the very least inappropriate touching of the in-between danglies day. 😉

So, did we all survive Valentine’s day? No sex injuries, pash rashes or regretful tattoos I hope? Good to hear!

Now with Valentines day and all the love that is thrown out into the universe, people tend to forget about the other side of a relationship. The break-up. Every woman worth her salt has a break up story or ten to tell. (Normally surfacing after a hard night on the vodka) I have complete and total sympathy for those poor women who get dumped on Valentines day. To be unceremoniously given your marching orders on the very day you should be getting elongated and uninterrupted oral sex is nothing short of a travesty. I myself am lucky enough to have never experienced this as yet, but never fear, if it does occur you will be the first to know about it!

In support of these unfortunate women (who by the way are much better off and can now find someone who knows the difference between a g-spot and g-mail) I will recount one of my more unfortunate breakup tales.

Remember Charlie? Yes, the one who ‘made me a woman’ so to speak. Well things started going south pretty quickly. Partly because the sex remained as awful and boring as that first ‘memorable’ time, but also because it turned out that Charlie was actually a bit of a dickhead. Read on to find out how I ended the hot mess that was my Cambodian catch.

So, what do you do when your boyfriend is horrible in bed? That was the constant question running through my head at the time. Trust me when I say this, do not try too hard. The first time I bought lingerie I had barely taken my shirt off when I felt something warm and sticky hit my stomach. That was the end of that night.

When I got a haircut and got my makeup professionally done all I received in return was him begging and pleading to cum on my face. (Yeah right, as if I was paying sixty dollars just so he could play target practice with my nostrils.) So then I tried the opposite. I returned to being the prudish, shy little girl I was before we had special cuddles, and man did that drive him wild! Unfortunately when Charlie got wild he usually only lasted long enough for me to undo his first two buttons. There was one particularly memorable experience in a very lovely park one night. We were in his car, looking out at the view, and boy was Charlie up for it. I however, knew that this specific park was a hot spot for making babies and so was also frequently visited by the police. I kept telling Charlie this and that we should wait till we got home but he kept asking and begging. He even offered to do the dishes when we got home.

Some offers are just to good to refuse I guess. We jumped in the backseat and Charlie popped on a condom. Turns out he was just in time, because about five seconds later I heard that oh so familiar grunting sound and my Charlie was done.

And so our relationship carried on like that. Yes, we had some great moments. Charlie would always be around to lift heavy things for me at work or pick me up after I fell off the forklift again, but there was always something missing. And when I finally told him I loved him, I wasn’t entirely sure if I meant it.

That was at the two-month mark. It was by far the longest I had ever been involved or even interested in a man, and so I started to experience a feeling very new to me; jealousy. Where was he when he said he was working late? Why could I never meet his family? Why did we always stay at my house and not his? The frustrating thing about dating someone whose first language is not English is that they can get out of any argument by crying “I don’t understand!” or “You’re talking too fast!” It made things very difficult for me and we became distant from each other for a couple days. Finally though, as all good boyfriends should, he offered me an apology. And that apology was in the form of a date. He wanted to recreate our first date, (clubbing and drinks) hence recreating the Cambodian love spark between us. My heart melted and I agreed pronto. So there we were, out on the town, alternating drinking with dancing and swapping saliva when we were too tired to do either. Around midnight things started getting a little pear shaped. I suddenly got this panging pain in my chest. God it hurt. I felt like I couldn’t get any air into my lungs and every time I tried to breathe in my chest would stab in agony.

Now here’s a lesson ladies, in what good boyfriend’s should do. Normally he would fold you in his arms and sit you down with a glass of ice-cold water. If it’s a cold night he would of course like a total gentleman take his shirt off to cover you up with and hail the nearest taxi to get you home and safe ASAP. Of course if you start to feel better once your home you repay him with sex, but that’s a given right? Anyway, so now that you know what a real man would do, I’ll fill you in on what my lovely Charlie did. According to my man, his shirt was one of a kind and I might rip a button off if I wasn’t careful, so there went that move. I didn’t get a glass of water, oh no. I got a shot of it. A shot that turned out to be Vodka. After I was finished gagging he then very sweetly asked if I was feeling any better. When I replied with a sentence containing mostly expletives he turned up the charm. And by charm I mean Tequila. He sat me down, lined up three shots in front of me, and somehow convinced me that I was feeling this pain because I was not drunk enough. According to him I was in a sort of slightly drunk limbo, where your body has had a little to drink, but desperately wants more, so informs you of this situation by sending ouchy signals straight to your chest. Personally I think I was a lot more than a little drunk because I believed him and downed the shots one by one. He was right in a way. After that I stopped feeling my chest at all. And my feet for that matter. Charlie then decided this was the moment to introduce me to his brother. He took me to a club I had never even heard of before, and as soon as I stepped through the door I understood why. I kept wishing I had brought pegs in my handbag so I could at least attempt to fit in. Almond eyed alluring Asians packed out the joint. There was not a single Caucasian in the place. Lots of cocaine, but no Caucasians. I clutched Charlie tighter; knowing if I lost him there was no way I would be able to pick him out in the crowd. Things went a little fuzzy after that. I think I met his brother, and I think he liked me. So that was a bonus. But finally my poor little body had enough. I could barely stand and there was nowhere to sit that I wouldn’t mess up someone’s line. Luckily, at that moment Charlie stepped up to the plate and became a good boyfriend. He said goodbye to his mates and we jumped in the first taxi we saw. We couldn’t go back to my place because my brother had never met Charlie and I didn’t think this was the best first impression to make. Through my blurred brain I thought it would actually be a fantastic opportunity to finally go to Charlie’s house but he turned me down flat on that option. Bastard. Then he had the bright idea to stay at a hotel for the night. I’ll give you the tip now; it is very difficult to find a hotel under $80 after three am on a Saturday. We were in that taxi for forty-five minutes. Charlie and the taxi driver even shared a cigarette! Total bromance. I guess he kind of got what came to him then. I was not feeling good, so Charlie laid me down on his lap. Bad idea. About twenty seconds later all that lovely Tequila was making a return appearance. Charlie clapped a hand over my mouth and the taxi pulled over double time. As the boys cozied up over another cigarrete I got to perform the one-woman show entitled “Please stare at my butt while I bend over in front of you and show you the contents of my stomach.” Long title I know but it’s a work in progress. After three delightful encores I was finally on an empty tank and so we continued on our scavenger hunt for hotels. Finally Charlie gave up and we ended up at one of his friend’s houses. After paying the driver over one hundred dollars, he opened up his friend’s car and motioned me inside. I stared at him for a long moment before realising this was our ‘hotel’ for the night. If looks could kill I’d be planning his funeral as we speak. Thank god at that moment his friend opened the front door and invited us in. Even in my inebriated state I could feel his eyes travel from my head to my toes. I would have had to be comatose to miss the hi five that he gave Charlie.

Again, what a bastard. Finally though, finally I was in bed. In bed and away from his weird sleazy

friend. I was unceremoniously stripped of my jeans and shirt but by that point I really didn’t care. I cuddled up to Charlie and as payback for the disastrous night, I let out a teeny tiny burp right under his nose.

There is nothing more unnerving than waking up after a big night to an excited Asian man hovering over you whilst your head pounds and you desperately try to suppress the need to vomit. Yet wake up to that I did. And before I knew it, that man above me was doing very interesting things to my downstairs area. Even in my hangover glaze I knew this was the part where I was supposed to start making all the moaning and groaning noises and all that nonsense. So I cleared my throat and prepared for the show. I had barely let out the first practise wheeze when he clamped his hand over my mouth. He put a finger to his lips and shook his head. I was outraged. Silent sex? What was I supposed to do now? The only fun I got out of it was seeing if I could get an octave higher each time we did it. So far I was only at my mid range and I was pretty certain with a couple more tries I could surely break some glass with my sultry chords. Needless to say, I was far from impressed with our ‘romantic date.’ Nor was I impressed having to sneak out of the house so Charlie’s friend’s wife wouldn’t find out I had been there. Talk about feeling like a prostitute, and not even a high class one at that. Of course when I tried to talk to Charlie about how horrible the night had been and how little I appreciated being treated like that, again the discussion dissolved into an argument concerning his convenient lack of English. I didn’t know what to do, so I did the only thing I do well. I started planning our three-month anniversary. When the going gets tough, the tough plan surprises.

Due to lack of funds and lack of living in the city for very long, my anniversary surprise was not my finest hour. I booked us a lovely little motel room that while looking positively sublime on the Internet was lacking even the basics in reality. If I stretched out sideways across the bed my feet and hands could touch the walls either side. Hmm, that rules out Karma Sutra, I thought. Still, I was determined to make the best of things. I had made it to a huge milestone with a boy I liked and who hopefully liked me in return, why shouldn’t I celebrate that? When the special boy arrived I answered the door in my finest silky negligee. His response was exactly what I had hoped for. The jaw drop, the slight gleam in his eyes in anticipation of what was to come, and of course the standard bulge in the pants. I dragged him inside and we had a fairly vanilla romp. Nothing was particularly special about it until things finished up. As soon as Charlie had his little moment, he rolled off me and reached up past my head. My heart skipped a beat. Maybe he had snuck into the room before me and planted a special anniversary gift? Maybe I was about to be showered with a combination of chocolate and rose petals, or even better, chocolate petals! I watched his arm creep towards the bedside table, and I bit my lip in anticipation of the wonderful surprise I was surely about to receive. I squinched my eyes shut, wanting to be truly surprised when the moment came.

And that’s when I heard the television. The bastard had reached straight for the remote!

After ditching a pillow straight at his fat head I stormed off to the bathroom and had a little cry. It was at that moment that a niggling feeling started creeping it’s way into my brain. Maybe we weren’t right for each other? Maybe… maybe we should break up?

I shook my head quickly to get rid of the nasty thought. All couples had ups and downs and this was just one of ours, right? I splashed water on my face and opened the door. He was right where I left him, entranced by the late night shopping channel. I sighed inwardly, knowing somehow that tonight would be one of the last we would spend together.

Unexpectedly, the second break up I initiated wasn’t nearly as heartbreaking as the first. In fact, he bloody well deserved what he got in my opinion. I had tried to put our disastrous anniversary behind us and carry on like a normal functioning couple. We pashed in the cool room, sent naughty texts and snuck in as many cheeky butt grabs at work as possible without the boss noticing, but it was slowly coming to an end.

One night I was feeling a little down and decided a nice stroll by the water with my boyfriend was just the thing to cheer me up. I called Charlie and we arranged to meet. He showed up only twenty minutes late, a fact I was supposed to be grateful for, and we proceeded to take a walk along the river. I wanted to talk to him, to let him know how I was feeling and just for him to listen. I didn’t even really need him to talk; all he needed to do was be there for me. Turns out we think in very different ways. While I tried to get out my feelings, Charlie was scoping out trees big enough for us to do it behind. Every time I would say something and turn to him for advice, he would just wink at me and suggest a way to take my mind off my troubles. Again and again he pulled me off the path and into some bush by the path, or behind a tree. He even tried to get me underneath a park bench. That was the last straw.

Just as he was pushing my head under the seat I batted him away and stood up. He looked puzzled to say the least. I told him right then and there it was over. None of this “it’s not you, it’s me talk,” because lets face it, it was all him. Suddenly everything about him made me angry, annoyed, just bloody infuriated. Especially when he suggested we do it anyway because “goodbye sex” is the best part of a relationship. Needless to say there would be no goodbye sex. I gave him a kiss on the cheek and walked away. He caught up to me and spun me around, asking if I’d asked him to the park just to break up with him. It was then that I felt a twinge of sympathy for him. Maybe I was being a little harsh. However all that changed when I realised Charlie was discreetly trying to move my hand towards his ever increasing crotch. I looked at him in disgust, snatched my hand back and walked back to my car. I didn’t look back once.

The following weeks at work were hard, but we made it work. It didn’t help that his sister got a job there and though I don’t speak Cambodian, I’m pretty sure she wasn’t asking me to pass the flour when she yelled at me from across the factory. Finally, I made the decision to quit. Apparently less than ten dollars an hour isn’t very good pay. Who knew?

My last day was full of mixed emotions. Joy at being able to stick it to the boss without repercussions. Regret at only just finding his secret stash of Vodka in the mud cake mix just as I was leaving. Safe to say we were not big on health and safety practices at that particular place. And of course, saying goodbye to Charlie. They had just installed cameras in the cool room so there was no chance of having a chat behind the cheesecakes, so we snuck to the lunchroom for our last goodbyes. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I had nothing to worry about. I realised what he was about to say seconds before he said it, and in an effort to re create a movie moment I pressed my finger to his lips to silence him. It didn’t work and in the end I just smacked him over the head until he shut up and let me speak. I told him I wasn’t leaving because we broke up, that I didn’t hate him and that we would stay friends. (Yeah right, because everyone who breaks up remains great friends all the time.) I gave him one last kiss and I walked away from my first job and my first serious boyfriend forever.

The Aftermath: By the time I had finished the last of the six mud cakes I had smuggled out from work, I was well and truly over Charlie. And a good thing too, because not a month after we broke up, I learnt some very interesting news about Charlie. It turned out that my beloved, my deflowerer if you will, had already deflowered someone else. And that someone else was a certain Mrs Charlie. Mrs Charlie lived in Cambodia with their two charming and very well behaved children. Lovely, doting husband Charlie was over in Australia to make money for his family and provide for them. So really it was a good thing I left him, no? He’s got all the time in the world to provide nowadays, now that all that pesky sex isn’t getting in the way. Funny how things work out, isn’t it?

So there you go Lovers. Just remember next time your cringing over the memory of Your First, it could have been so much worse… 😉

Claire xx

Great bonking song: I want it that way

By: Backstreet Boys

Best Used: For that great giggly sex, when you stare deep into each others eyes and then break the moment with a raspberry. Feel free to sing along as your going at it too!